


The Daughter Of Morning and Madness

by Sar_Kalu



Series: A String of W.I.P's [14]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types
Genre: DZ2 crossover challenge, Female Harry Potter, amended version
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:27:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25126210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sar_Kalu/pseuds/Sar_Kalu
Summary: DZ2 Inspired Crossover fic. HP/PJ:O....Zabini joined Heather as they waited the green eyed girls turn, his elbow nudging hers when they reached the ‘Ps’. “You’re up next,” he whispered to her, leaning his head close.Heather smiled, feeling her nerves return. Meeting Zabini’s gaze, Heather couldn’t help but voice her biggest fear, “what if me being here is a mistake and the hat won’t sort me?”Zabini’s eyes widened at that before he snorted laughter, “Potter, if that happens, I’ll bankrupt my mother and send all her gold to the muggle minister.”Heather couldn’t help but grin at that, “thanks, Zabini,” she murmured just in time before her name was called.“POTTER, HEATHER!”...“Welcome,” The Headmaster said as he spread his arms wide and smiled just as broadly as the excited first year student, “to Hogwarts!”...Heather Potter is a witch and a demigod, and with both titles, Heather get's a bucket load of trouble for their worth. Good thing that she has a tonne of family around to help her get out a jam. Much to her everlasting surprise....Kudos to any who can guess Heather's parents. BEFORE they are revealed.
Relationships: none yet
Series: A String of W.I.P's [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/910242
Comments: 12
Kudos: 64





	The Daughter Of Morning and Madness

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! 
> 
> I'm not dead! Surprise! 
> 
> In this Time of Covid, I have been going through old files and stumbled across this... piece which, I must confess, I have no memory of writing, so that's on ADHD and my life. I may continue writing this at some point. I may not - I probably will, but like I'm erm "balls deep" on another fic as it were and so this is. Just being uploaded because I found it and it looks kinda cool? 
> 
> It's based on the whole, DZ2 crossover challenge; which, I think is only partially addressed in the... like 4 chapters I have here. Thankfully past-me did include the bits that will be written(?) about #BigYikes I have to remember something from the past..... D: and yeah, anyway. These be the guidelines you're looking for:
> 
> Harry Potter/Percy Jackson crossover:  
>  \- every half-blood has one god-parent  
>  however,  
>  \- Harry is different because he has more than one god for a parent/guardian
> 
> Rules:  
> Grey/Dark Harry  
> Harry’s first god-parent MUST be one of the twelve: Zeus, Hades, Poseidon, Ares ect  
> Harry’s god-parent must break the law and talk/interact/meet with Harry  
> Harry is determined because of a canon Hogwarts event: Troll, Stone, Basilisk, Spiders, ect.
> 
> Guidelines:  
> Tom and Albus must both feel wary of Harry when he comes into his god-like powers  
> Horcruxes exist and must be destroyed the long way around - quest  
> At least one of Harry’s friends must be a half-blood  
> Sirius and Remus do not abandon him? mmm, maybe  
> MOD!Harry, Immortal!Harry - end game  
> Prophecy about Harry
> 
> And from memory, the OG challenge was longer and waaaay more involved than the above. But also, I'm stubborn and an adult and no one gets to tell me what to do. So. Cherry picked challenge, deal with it. Or don't. I can't tell you what to do. lol
> 
> R&R below. Cheers for sticking around long enough to reach this bit of my Beginning Note. 
> 
> Cheers,

Heather was still clinging tightly to the sharp edged paper ticket in her hand, fingers shakily stroking the green-black ink that formed the letters “platform nine and three quarters” despite having boarded the Hogwarts Express and found a seat. The young girl of eleven years of age was already dressed in her school robes, not willing to leave anything to chance. The chance that someone might see her non-wizarding attire and declare her a fake. The chance of not fitting in. The chance of being seen and being told that she’d have to go back to those rotten relatives of hers; and Aunt Petunia would laugh shrilly at all her hopes and dreams and then ship her right off to Stonewall, where she’d be stuck in the bleak despotic hell that was the poorest school in Surrey. The only place where troublemakers were accepted and where, if you were lucky, you might be able to gain enough recognition for a scholarship at the local college; but don’t hold out on that, as Uncle Vernon liked to say, chuckling at the notion of Heather amounting to anything more than a burger flipper in a McDonalds. Uncle Vernon had a great many opinions on people in the service industry and none of them were complimentary.

Heather had her face all but pressed to the window as she watched the landscape change before her eyes. Outside the window, the narrow houses and city streets filled with cars, buses, and trucks morphed to the wider streets of London’s outer boroughs. Heather tried to read the street names and she stared into peoples backyards with fascination. She could see people gardening, having tea out on their back stoops, and more than one household had someone washing their car in the driveway. Kids played in the street, chasing each other or footballs while their parents watched and Heather felt that familiar bitter tang of jealousy in her chest as she watched them. Having no parents of her own and an Aunt and Uncle who cared little for her, Heather was well used to the experience of jealousy. A knock on the glass of the compartment proceeded the door sliding open and Heather stared as a tall red haired boy steered a younger boy inside with a narrow eyed look directed back the way they’d came. “This is Ron,” the taller, older boy announced apropos of nothing; “our brothers have been tormenting him terribly; do you mind if he sits with you?”

Heather shook her head uncertainly, not saying anything at all, and watched as the younger boy, Ron, was shoved unceremoniously onto the seat opposite her and the older boy hefted an enormous trunk onto the racks above the two first years heads.

“My name’s Percy,” the older boy introduced himself perfunctorily, “I’m the fifth year male Prefect for Gryffindor. You can come and find me at the front of the train if you need any help.”

With that, Percy the Gryffindor Prefect shut the door behind him again and left the two first years sitting in an awkward silence. Ron was taller than Heather by quite a bit. He had bright blue eyes and messy red hair that had more to do with him not brushing it that morning than anything to do with curls or waves. Despite his height, Ron’s clothes looked way too big for him and worn shiny in places that came from being handed down than from not being taken care of. He had a long thin nose that looked rather like Aunt Petunia’s, although without the square end that Heather’s had. Heather had heard that she was related to a number of people at Hogwarts, but she didn’t think that Ron was one of them. Heather felt vaguely let down by the idea. Ron looked uncomfortable in his seat. There was something about his eyes that looked a little wild, as though he’d had a great fright and was still calming himself down.

“I’m Ron, by the way,” Ron said as though his brother hadn’t already introduced him to Heather; “Ron Weasley.”

“Heather,” Heather replied awkwardly, pressing her lips into a tight smile and shrugging slightly, “Heather Potter.”

Ron’s mouth dropped open in surprise and his blue eyes immediately darted upwards to where Heather’s fringe hung heavily in her eyes. “Bloody hell,” he exclaimed, “do- d’you have the, y’know,” he hesitated like he wasn’t sure if he should continue, “the _scar_?”

Heather blinked before nervously raising a hand and moving her fringe off her forehead. Ron leaned forwards in obvious awe, taking in the delicate pattern of the lightning bolt that carved its way right to left across Heather’s brow. It was still puckered like it was new and barely healed despite Heather having that scar since she could remember. When she’d been little, Heather had traced it over and over and over when she was trying to get to sleep in her cupboard. It had soothed her. Now all that scar did was remind her that she was famous and her parents were dead.

“Blimey,” Ron breathed, looking beyond impressed.

Heather dropped her hand and shifted on her seat. “So you have brothers?” She asked Ron, not really sure what else to say. After all, it wasn’t as though the Dursley’s encouraged her to talk and her primary school teachers had barely acknowledged her after the first fifteen times she’d failed to hand in her homework or even participate in class. Heather had trouble concentrating in school. She’d fidgeted a lot, struggled to pay attention to things she didn’t really care about, and would have much rather spent her days running through the park and playing make believe by herself. After all, no one was allowed to play with Freak Potter, but that didn’t mean that Heather hadn’t spent time learning where the frogs spawned their eggs in the little stream that cut through Little Whinging, or where the birds would lay their eggs in nests in the old oak trees on the edge of the Big Park By The School. Dudley with his parents had a lot less freedom than Heather had, which was the best thing about not having parents or people who cared about you.

Ron shrugged dismissively, “yeah, five of ‘em;” and Heather watched as Ron ticked their names off on his fingers, “Bill’s the oldest, he works for Gringotts as a curse breaker; then there’s Charlie, he’s in Romania, studying dragons. You met Percy, he’s fifteen and will probably be the next Minister for Magic. Fred and George are twins,” Ron’s expression turned sour, “they’re massive pranksters, you can’t trust a word they say, but they’re alright, I guess. Then you’ve got Ginny, but she’s a girl. So she doesn’t really count.”

Heather blinked and smiled as Ron paused long enough for her to respond, his pout turned to the window as he stared miserably out the window. “Wow,” Heather couldn’t help but remark, “that’s a big family.” Heather, despite her opinion on parents not being what they were entirely cracked up to be, was still jealous that Ron came from such a big family. Heather couldn’t help but imagine nights spent curled up on the sofa watching TV, playing in the backyard, roughhousing, and trading vegetables that they didn’t like for ones they did behind their parents backs.

Ron shrugged again, watching as the streets filled with brick houses turned into grey highways that cut through rolling green fields dotted with cows and sheep. Heather sat in silence with the red haired boy, wondering if all wizards were this morose or if he really did hate his family that much. Heather, who had never known her parents or had siblings, couldn’t understand Ron. Heather would kill for parents that loved her and surely siblings couldn’t be worse than Dudley? No one was worse than Dudley, of that Heather was certain.

As the sky outside began to darken, someone rapped on the door to the compartment and Heather jumped up to slide the door open. She was confronted by the sight of a silver haired, rosy cheeked witch in merry blue robes and gold glasses that looked like the far edges were actually flared angel wings.

“Anything off the trolley, dear?” The old woman asked and Heather’s mouth dropped open in delighted surprise.

The witch was pushing a floating silver trolley that had three different levels: the top level held baked goods and Heather could smell melted chocolate and spiced pumpkin and it reminded her of the Smith family at number 10, who were American and celebrated Hallowe’en. The second level was packed by rows of brightly coloured boxes that described every different kind of novelty sweet imaginable. There was _Droobles Best Bubble Gum_ , that came in fifty different flavours despite the packet being no bigger than the palm of her hand. _Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans_ , boasting of over a million different flavour combinations - ‘And We Mean Every Flavour!’ Not to mention the _Chocolate Frogs_ that dared you to catch them and eat them before they escaped! Then on the third shelf was individual wrappers of mints, caramels, chocolates, and fudges; all neatly arrayed so as to delight the eye.

Heather, who had never seen so many sweeties before, reeled beneath the choices she could make. Stuffing a hand in her pocket, Heather pulled out the last of her galleons, about seventeen in total and held it out to the Trolley Witch. “Can I have three of everything, please?”

The Trolley Witch’s eyes widened in surprise before her merry face broke out into a bright smile, “goodness me, dearie, you’ll make a lot of friends with these!”

Heather, who hadn’t even thought about Ron in the compartment behind her quickly ducked back inside to grab her book bag. “Here,” Heather said to the Trolley Witch, “they can go in here.”

It took the two of them ten minutes to collect everything up and for coins to exchange hands. In all, Heather was left with a considerable sum of money despite her purchase and she moved to the side to let Ron, with his three bronze knuts in hand, buy a liquorice wand while eyeing the Chocolate Frogs, 2s ea., sadly.

Heather squirmed, wondering if she should be sharing with the boy across from her as she peeled the wrapping off a Peppermint Squid, except Dudley never had shared with her and Hagrid had told her to be careful of strangers after that time in Diagonalley when a hag had gripped her tight and tried to drag her into the depths of Knockturn. The Hag’s eyes had gleamed like hell-fire from the stories in Church that Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had made Dudley and Heather attend every weekend. That horrid voice wet in Heather’s ear whispering of divinity and gold and jewels and hunger-forever-yearning as the Hag had dared to lick at Heather’s outstretched arm, the girl dangling like bait in the Hag’s taloned hands. Hagrid had waded in, black eyes burning with rage as he’d ripped Heather from the Hag’s too-strong-too-tight grip, her skin bearing bruises for weeks after the fact, and Heather had stared in wonder as the giant man had landed a heavy kick to the Hag’s sternum and sent the creature careening backwards, squalling in rage and fear.

Twisting on her seat and drawing her knees to her chest, Heather ducked her head down and refused to look at Ron Weasley again. Ignoring the plaintive looks he gave her as Heather pulled sweet after sweet from her full-to-bursting book bag, fearful of the way his lips twisted and envy turned his desire sour. Dudley would wear that expression every time Heather earned something he hadn’t. That look spoke of Heather Hunting and being chased across the Big Park and onto Magnolia crescent with whoops and shouts following her as Dudley and his gang tried to beat her up for getting something that they hadn’t. The more memorable time had been in third grade when Heather had answered a question right on the blackboard and the teacher had slipped Heather her first sweetie ever. Heather hadn’t eaten it right away and Dudley had chased her through the school yard and across the oval to where there’d been a break in the chainlink fence and Heather had managed to weasel her way through to the Big Park and hide up one of the big oak trees. Hidden beyond prying eyes, Heather had licked the tacky boiled lemon flavoured lolly until it had all gone and the lunch bell had sounded. She hadn’t gone back to school that day. The detention for that had been worth it too.

As night truly fell, the compartment door swung open again and this time a girl stood in the doorway. The first thing that Heather noticed about her was the enormous nervous grin that split her face beneath big, upturned, liquid-dark eyes that shone with intelligence and good humour. She had almost-black hair that corkscrewed in wiry curls around her head like an out-of-control halo and a nose that should have seemed too big for her face but instead looked just right. Like Heather, this girl was in her school robes as well, although they were unadorned of any of the colours that marked the older years apart. The girl had skin that was several shades lighter than her hair but a lot darker than Heather’s own rich tan and Ron’s alabaster white that looked almost blue in the white light of the gas lamps over their heads.

Coming to a screeching stop at the sight of Heather and Ron, the girl licked her lips before huffing and rolling her eyes, presumably at her own uncertainty. “I’m looking for a toad,” she announced in a loud voice, “a boy named Neville’s lost one.”

Ron shrugged his shoulders, looking for all the world as though he couldn’t work out why you’d want a toad. “Haven’t seen one,” the redhead mumbled, picking at the last of his sandwiches that sat on his lap. “Sorry.”

Heather sat upright, swinging her legs off the bench and letting her mary-janes hit the ground with a solid ‘thump’. “Hang on,” she said, pulling her wand from her pocket, “I’ll help you look for the toad.” So saying, Heather tapped her wand tip to her bag and watched as the soft leather glowed gold for a moment before subsiding to its regular dark brown colour.

“Was that magic?” The girl demanded in delight, “I’ve never seen a spell like that before! You didn’t even say _anything_.”

Heather smiled weakly, “the bags enchanted to stop thieves,” she explained softly, “tapping the bag with your wand activates it. I bought in Diagon Alley when I got my school stuff.”

The girl shot Ron a side eyed glance, noting his dishevelled appearance from ratty trainers to his nearly worn through pants. “Probably best,” she agreed before reaching out and grabbing Heather arm. “Come on, this is the last compartment on this carriage, we’ll have to go to the next one.”

Heather pulled the girl to a stop just outside the bathrooms at the very end of the train carriage. “Wait,” Heather said, “did you check the bathroom?”

The girl nibbled at her bottom lip uncertainly, “no?” Shuffling on the spot, the girl looked at Heather. “Should we?” It was a funny look for someone that seemed to have a personality larger than life and Heather couldn’t help but desperately want to make friends with her. She seemed so vibrant and colourful that the rest of the world would be boring in comparison for sure.

“Well,” Heather said, unable to help but keep smiling at her hopefully new friend even as she scratched the back of her neck uncomfortably, “it’s a toad, innit? Toads are amphibious, that means they-”

“Like water,” the girl interrupted briskly, rolling her eyes again and tossing her head so that her wild hair bounced around in agreement to her frustration, “yes, I know.”

Heather rolled her own eyes at that and made her way to where she’d seen the door of the girls bathroom back when she’d first boarded the train hours ago. “You check the boys,” Heather told the other girl, wondering if it was too late to ask her name already? It probably was. Heather couldn’t help but feel like a terrible person for that.

The girl’s eyes widened in horror, “I can’t go into the boys toilets! I’m a girl!”

Heather stared at her like the girl with bushy brown hair was barmy. “Why ever not? They’re just toilets.”

“Yes, but,” and here the girl leaned in slightly like she was imparting great wisdom, “girls don’t belong in boys toilets. It’s not lady-like.”

Thinking this was a very strange conversation to be having with another person, Heather shrugged, “fine, I’ll go then. I’m definitely not a lady.” Uncle Vernon had in fact complained many, many times that Heather was too much a tom-boy for his tastes and couldn’t she just act more like her Aunt, for Christ’s sake? Aunt Petunia had always looked torn between pride at the compliment and disgust that Heather would never amount to any good at all in her eyes. The complaint had been said enough that Dudley had picked up on it and he and his friends had taken to calling her a boy. It was the only time any of them had been scolded at school, actually.

The girl gaped after her, her strangled exclamation of: “but those are boys toilets, you’ll get caught!” going unheeded. Heather wrinkled her nose in preparation for the strong smell of urine only to blink as it never eventuated. Thinking that wizards must have better cleaning products than their non-magical cousins in order to make a boy toilet barely smell at all, Heather ducked her head around the doors of all three stalls looking for a toad. It was only until she reached the urinal that she found a fat brown toad sitting in a drain and croaking softly.

Grimacing, Heather bent down to pick the amphibian up and resolving to wash her hands thoroughly after she handed the toad to the girl outside. As she turned around, Heather nearly ran into a tall boy with bronze hair and wearing a yellow and black striped tie. “Oh!” Heather exclaimed in surprise, dropping her eyes and avoiding the wide eyed expression of the boy in front of her. “Sorry.”

The boy’s ears tinted red, one hand already hooked in his belt and the other hovering over his fly. “You’re a girl!” He accused, “what are you doing in here!”

Heather winced, “Neville lost his toad,” she said by the way of an explanation, holding the toad in her hands out to show the boy she wasn’t weird, just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“What-” the boy backed up dropping his hands from where they’d been hovering, looking more and more flustered. “Look, you need to go,” the boy wheezed, “please!”

“Right, sorry,” Heather started, manoeuvring around the older boy and trying to escape the boys toilet. “Sorry!”

The girl from earlier was standing outside still, wringing her hands desperately. “I tried to stop him going in, I promise, but he didn’t listen to me,” she said shrilly, her hair seemingly flying up around her ears in mimicry of her agitation.

Heather couldn’t help but giggle in the face of such over dramatised distress, “it’s okay,” she assured the other girl. Then she held up the toad in her hands victoriously, “and look, I found Neville’s toad,” she grinned widely.

“Trevor!” the bushy haired girl exclaimed in delight, “you found him! Oh, Neville’s going to be so pleased.”

As the two girls walked back along the carriages, Heather turned to the girl with the bushy hair and bit at her lip nervously. It had been a while, but surely, maybe, it would be okay that she hadn’t asked before. “Sorry,” Heather began softly, ducking her head to look down at the toad in her hands, wincing a little at the feeling of the slick, slimy skin against her fingers; “but I don’t think I got your name before. You know, when you first mentioned the toad?”

The other girls eyes widened in surprise, “oh no, I’m so sorry,” she gasped, “that was so rude of me, I just barged in on you and that boy.” The girl twisted around and stuck her hand out very determinedly, “I’m Hermione Granger,” she said firmly.

Heather grinned bashfully and pressed the toad to her chest so she could shake Hermione’s hand as best she could, “Heather Potter,” she introduced herself, thinking that she’d done very well for her first day at Hogwarts, having made a friend already. “Very pleased to meet you.”

Hermione’s eyes widened again, her mouth dropping open, “goodness me, are you really?”

Heather grinned, “I am. Are you really Hermione Granger?” She teased back, unable to help herself.

Hermione’s cheeks flushed and she dropped her gaze and Heather’s hand. “That was unbearably rude of me,” she apologised. “Come on, Neville’s this way.”

Heather made a face as she nearly dropped Trevor and hurried after Hermione. She had made a new friend, good for her. Take that Dudley, he was always saying Heather would never have any friends and look how wrong he was. Hermione ushered Heather into a compartment where a short, round faced boy sat sniffling next to the window. There were two other girls opposite him trying to console the boy that his toad would be found, but it didn’t look like they were getting far.

“Look, Neville,” Hermione announced into the compartment, “Heather found your toad!”

The boy - Neville - looked up in hope and gave a cry of gladness when he spotted the toad cradled to Heather’s chest. “Trevor!”

Heather hastily handed the amphibian over, discreetly wiping her hands on her skirt beneath her robes. One of the girls, a redhead with bright blue eyes, smiled and ducked her head as she watched Heather and she pulled her wand out.

“Come here, Heather was it?” The girl said, “I’m Susan Bones and my aunt showed me this excellent charm this morning.”

Heather couldn’t help the minute flinch that accompanied the zig-zagging swish of Susan Bones’ wand, only to gape as the slimy smears lifted and vanished from her school uniform. “Oh, thank you!” Heather breathed in amazement, running her hands together and marvelling at how they smelt of roses now, not of toilet water and pond scum.

Hermione flopped on the seat next to Susan, her eyes gleaming with a hunger that Heather suspected meant that Hermione wanted to know more. “What spell was that? You didn’t say anything. Do you not have to say an incantation to make spells work?”

Susan’s eyes looked fit to pop out of their sockets at the barrage of questions. “Oh my, you must be a muggleborn,” Susan said and smiled gently at Hermione as the other girl nodded her head. “It was a cleaning spell. Scourgify. It’s in the Standard Book of Spells, grade two,” Susan explained and beside her, the blonde haired girl nodded seriously, “but it’s really useful, so my Aunty Amy taught me this morning. Most of the spells we learn will be verbal, but in sixth year we’re taught to cast silently.”

“Most never bother to learn that though,” the other girl said, “they think it’s a waste of time if you’re not an Auror or Hit Wizard.” Then she held out her hand, “I’m Hannah Abbott, Susan and I grew up together. Our parents were friends and Susan’s Aunt kept up the tradition of playdates for us.”

Susan smiled at Hannah in agreement, “would’ve been right boring, growing up without such a good friend around.”

Hannah nodded with wide eyes that suggested that there may have been alternative options but that neither girl appreciated them all that much. “I have older brothers and they are _terrible_ ,” she said with emphasis.

Heather grinned and reached out to shake Hannah’s hand, “I’m Heather Potter, yes that Heather Potter.” The stunned silence that followed was pretty funny to Heather, who couldn’t help the little giggle that escaped her lips at the other girls and Neville’s faces. “Oh come on,” Heather said with a roll of her eyes, “it’s not that impressive, I’m just one kid!”

Neville’s smile was a little wobbly and his fingers spasmodically tightened on his toad until the creature was squirming fit to escape again. “It’s a little impressive,” the moon faced boy told Heather as he turned to stuff Trevor in a cage that sat on the floor at his feet. He latched the lid tightly and tapped the top with his wand with a heavy frown of concentration on his face, he repeated the process three or four times before the little box glowed briefly. “Finally,” Neville sighed.

Hermione watched the entire process with narrowed eyes, “I don’t think your wand likes you very much,” she said unthinkingly.

Hannah and Susan gaped at Hermione in horror while Neville flushed a brilliant, ruddy red of humiliation. “It was my dad’s old wand,” he snapped defensively.

“Sorry!” Hermione said, “it’s just,” she shrugged uncomfortably, “I can… hear it? His wand, I mean…” Her voice trailing off like she wasn’t actually sure she could.

Hannah leaned forwards, looking disapproving as she stared at Hermione and Heather felt her hands form fists as she tried not to take offence at the other girls expression, “what did you say your name was again?”

“Hermione,” Hermione replied hastily, “Hermione Granger.” Everything about Hermione, from her feet which had been kicking up into the air excitedly to her curly hair seemed to wilt beneath Hannah’s gaze.

“We don’t talk about other peoples wands, Hermione,” Hannah told her gently, “it’s not really considered polite among magicals. Wand’s are intensely private and unique to the wizard or witch that carries them. If you’re not careful about who you tell, a person can learn a lot about you by what wand wood and core you use.”

“Oh,” Hermione whispered, looking devastated. Turning to Neville, Hermione apologised: “I’m so sorry, Neville, I didn’t mean to offend you.”

Neville shrugged, looking beyond awkward to be the centre of attention like he was. “It’s okay, Hermione,” he told the bushy haired girl softly, barely audible in the otherwise silent carriage, “I know you didn’t mean anything by it.”

The silence in the wake of Hermione’s bashful shame and Neville’s awkwardness seemed to stretch on forever. It was with great relief that they all felt the train shudder around them and the sound of squealing breaks sound from beneath them. Susan gasped in excitement as they physically felt the drag of gravity when the Hogwarts Express began to slow dow. “We’re here!”

The platform was cold and faintly wet as wave after wave of students flowed from the train. To the call of “firs’ years, firs’ years over ‘ere!” Heather clung to Hermione’s hand as she dragged the other girl through the crush, Hannah followed closely behind with Susan and Neville trailing behind. Hermione, realising that Hannah and the others were falling behind, snatched up the blonde girls hand and motioned for Hannah to do the same with Susan, who did the same with Neville. Thus, as a chain of tiny humans, Heather led everyone towards the towering shape of Hagrid, who had introduced Heather to the magical world.

“Alrigh’, ‘eather?” Hagrid called out over the tops of peoples heads, making more than one person crane their head to see who Hagrid was shouting at.

Heather raised her hand, feeling more confident as time went by, to acknowledge Hagrid, knowing her voice wasn’t nearly loud enough to breach the gap of fifteen people deep as well as the chatter of hundreds of older students that swept past the group of first years that huddled tight together on the far end of the platform.

Hagrid, once he was sure that everyone was there, led them down a steep, narrow path that cut around what appeared to be a mountainside. There was barely any light and Heather whimpered more than once as she and the people in front and behind her tripped or slipped as they descended towards a large inky black lake.

Rounding a corner and not too far from the bottom the entire group stopped in sudden awe. There is was. A great castle jutting up into the velvet night sky like a great monolith of towers and turrets and battlements. Golden light from thousands of guttering torches spilled out across the rolling lawns and illuminated the gargoyles and animals that had been embedded into the very stone work of the ancient building.

Hogwarts.

Heather had to be nudged forwards by Hannah, who looked just as awe inspired as Heather, as they continued ever downwards towards the lake. The shuffling of hundreds of feet both sped up and slowed down as everyone both hurried towards the castle and tried to remain long enough to engrave that majestic sight into their eyeballs.

Heather couldn’t help but give Hermione and Hannah an elated grin as they climbed into a tiny boat, waiting desperately for the passage across the lake. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered to them, smiling at Susan as the tiny redhead joined them.

“Aunty didn’t do the castle justice,” Susan confided as her eyes were once again drawn to that magnificent sight.

With Hagrids cry of “Forward!”, they started their journey across the lake, more than a few people trying to lean both forwards and sit up as straight as possible in order to keep the view of Hogwarts in eyesight as they neared the edge of a large cliff. Heather had to grab the back of Hermione’s robes and drag her down in order to make sure the other girl didn’t hit her head on the overhanging rock ledge they passed under.

“Careful,” Heather admonished without heat, more than understanding of Hermione’s preoccupation.

“Thanks, Heather,” Hermione whispered.

Shooting Hermione a grin, Heather was the first out of the tiny boat when they coasted to a crunchy stop on a grey pebbled beach. The ledge that they had slid under had opened up into an enormous, sheltered cavern that had a door, bracketed by a pair of torches, sunk deep into the rock at the very far end. Hagrid led the way to the door and raised a single massive fist to knock on the heavy wood.

The door swung inwards and a tall woman in emerald green robes wearing a pointed hat with a feather stuck in the band stepped out. Heather took one look at this woman, with her steely grey eyes and firm set mouth and immediately knew she was not a woman to cross.

“The firs’ years, Depu’y ‘Eadmistress,” Hagrid said as gravely as he could manage with a wide smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

The Deputy Headmistress regarded Hagrid calmly, her mouth curving so faintly that Heather wondered if the smile was there at all, before nodding her head. “Thank you, Hagrid,” she said. Turning to the first years, the Deputy Headmistress smiled austerely, “follow me please.”

Without further ado, the Deputy Headmistress led the gawking group of eleven year olds up three flights of stairs, each grander than the last, until they poured out into a large arched entry way with four stained glass windows that bracketed an absolutely huge heavy oak front door that was carved with badgers, snakes, lions, and eagles. Gesturing the first years into a side room, the Deputy Headmistress stood framed in the ope doorway.

“Good evening,” she greeted them, “I am Professor Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

Heather grinned brightly and was unable to help lifting on her toes in excitement. Hermione and Susan grabbed her elbows and tugged her flatfooted again, both sharing their own excitement in squeezing Heather’s arms tightly. Professor McGonagall eyed the three of them severely but Heather got the impression she wasn’t really unhappy with them. Indeed, Heather rather thought she approved of their excitement, if perhaps not the release.

“The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly,” Professor McGonagall continued, “but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses.”

Behind her, Heather could hear a boy muttering something about brothers and trolls and trying to discreetly look behind her, she could see Ron Weasley talking to a tall boy with close cropped black hair and near-to-golden eyes set in a darkly dusky skinned face. Heather snapped back around and focussed on the Deputy Headmistress, who was still talking.

“The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts,” Professor McGonagall spoke firmly over their heads, her eyes sweeping over the collected first years with purpose. “You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory and spend free time in your house common room.”

Heather pasted a smile onto her face as Professor McGonagall met her eyes once again and it felt like she was being x-rayed by that silvery gaze. Heather had never felt so naked before while still being fully clothed and she wondered if Professor McGonagall, who looked to be in her fifties, had known and taught her parents; and if she had, what kind of students her mother and father had been. Professor McGonagall’s gaze moved on, this time to a thin blond haired boy thatHeather had met in Madam Malkin’s Robes For All Occasions. He didn’t look too happy to be under that steely gaze.

“The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points,”and it was here Professor McGonagall’s face turned sternly disapproving, “while any rule-breaking will lose house points.” At the narrowing of Professor McGonagall’s eyes, Heather firmly decided to never break any rules… or at least, never get caught breaking any rules. Something told her that Professor McGonagall would be a particularly harsh task mistress.

“At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours,” Professor McGonagall said as she wound down her speech.

“The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarted yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting…” and Heather tugged at her shirt nervously as the Deputy Headmistress’ gaze one more travelled over the group of first years, somehow landing on every little imperfection to be found. Like Heather, dozens of hands darted to shirts that needed to be tucked in, cloaks that needed to be straightened and ties that needed tightening.The moment Professor McGonagall stepped out of the room, however, the entire class burst into a rush of noise.

“It’s true then,” a voice shouted out over the hubbub, “what they were saying on the train,” and Heather watched as the thin blonde boy from Madam Malkin’s stepped out from the crowd and stalked over to her, “Heather Potter has come to Hogwarts.”

Heather met the boys cool grey eyes and tilted her head to the side in contemplation, “and who are you?” She asked.

Silvery brows raised at that and the boys lips twisted into a thin smirk, “Malfoy,” he said grandly, “Draco Malfoy.”

Heather hummed. “Nice to meet you, Malfoy,” she said, holding out a hand and cutting off whatever else it was that the blond was going to say.

Malfoy’s eyes widened in surprised pleasure as he reached out to shake her hand. “My father said you wouldn’t shake my hand,” he mused almost too quiet to be heard.

“Why-ever not?” Heather asked in confusion.

“Because his father’s a Death Eater,” Ron Weasley’s voice shouted out, “my Mum said that Lucius Malfoy killed her brothers. He’s the son of a killer!”

The accusation hung like a miasma over the group of eleven year olds, no one quite sure what to say or do. Heather, her hand still gripped by Malfoy’s, felt Malfoy’s fingers tighten in rage. Shooting the blond a sharp look that did nothing to dispel the gathering rage that pinked high cheekbones, Heather tried to grab the thin boy before he did something stupid.

Malfoy, on the other hand, was like a dog with a bone. “Think you’re so clever don’t you? No need to ask who you are; red hair, hand-me-down robes, you must be a Weasley!” Malfoy spat in rage, “my father told me all about you lot, said your parents were-“ but whatever Weasley’s parents were, Heather never found out as the dark skinned boy beside Weasley darted forwards and slapped a hand over Malfoy’s mouth.

“Draco, calm down,” the boy hissed, “not here, you know the law!”

  
Malfoy snarled wordlessly and shoved his way back to the two large behemoths that passed as children near the back wall. “Whatever,” he muttered mulishly, making as if to punch the wall only to stop at the last minute.

Heather glared at Weasley, who looked elated at having “won” that argument. Turning to the golden-eyed boy, Heather cocked her head to the side. “What did you mean by ‘you know the law’?”

The boy regarded her for a moment before apparently making an internal decision and nodding firmly. “Not here, not now,” he told her, “but come and find me later in the week after we’ve all settled in and I’ll tell you everything I can.” He smiled slightly and held out a hand, “Blaise Zabini, by the way.”

“Heather-”

“Potter,” Zabini stated with a curl of his lips, “yes, I know. I am a wizard, you know.”

Heather bounced her head from side to side in chagrin. “Seems like everyone here knows me,” she could help but commiserate.

Zabini shrugged, “when you’re a celebrity, that happens,” he told her in a manner that suggested he didn’t care for her discomfort. “Whether you know it or not, you did the wizarding world a great service ten years ago. We are all in your debt,” he said this with gravity, his eyes staring into Heather’s as if trying to impart great wisdom on her.

“Right,” Heather murmured awkwardly as Professor McGonagall returned to the room and seemed to glare at the milling first years in disapproval that they were lined up in neat ranks, ready to file out.

“We’re ready for you now,” the Deputy Headmistress told them, before leading them out, across the Entrance Hall, and into the Great Hall.

Great didn’t even begin to describe the Great Hall. Four long trestle style tables ran the length of the room, comfortably seating two hundred students each, and arrayed with golden plates, cutlery, and goblets. Runners draped the tables from end to end in the colours of that house and as they walked in, Heather could see a veritable crop of redheaded boys sat at the bright red table on the far left. Heather would’ve bet her entire newly discovered inheritance that those were Ron Weasley’s older brothers. Heather wondered if they were as cruel as their younger brother, but given she’d met Percy, who was a prefect, she didn’t think they would be.

The table furthest to the right was draped in emerald green and seemed to house the largest, meanest looking boys that Heather had ever seen. She was absolutely sure that she didn’t want to get on any of their bad sides even if the one closest to the door did wave at someone who Heather could only guess was his little sister. They shared the same pug-like nose.

Beside her, Hermione was telling a nervous Neville all about the ceiling being bewitched to look like the night sky. Heather looked up and felt her mouth drop open in shock and awe. “Wicked,” she breathed in stunned amazement. Turning to Hermione, Heather couldn’t help but ask, “who did you say did the enchanting?”

“Rowena Ravenclaw, of course,” Hermione told her almost waspishly, “her house is known for valuing the studious, the knowledgable, and the wise.”

Heather grinned and elbowed Hermione’s side, “sounds like you, Hermione,” she teased gently, “I’ve never met anyone who knows as much as you do.”

Hermione pinked in pleased embarrassment at that and quickly hushed Heather and Neville both as they came to a stop before a dais. A long table, much like the students, ran the length of the dais; and from end to end Heather counted at least twenty teachers that were seated staring down at the students below. In the centre sat a man with bright blue eyes, a long silver beard, and wearing bright purple robes with planets seemingly embroidered into the fabric even as they whirled and danced along his sleeves and front.

Professor McGonagall stood just before the man in purple robes and beside a three-legged stool that had an old raggedy hat on it. Picking the hat up by its very tip, Professor McGonagall paused, “when I call your name, you will come forwards, place this hat on your head, and be sorted into your Houses.”

Then, the Deputy Headmistress called out: “Abbott, Hannah,” to a silently expectant room.

Hannah, obviously nervous, stumbled up to the stool to the accompaniment of Heather and Susan shoving lightly at her back as she went. Grinning at each other, the two girls turned back to Hannah, who was sitting very still and silent on the chair, breathless in anticipation.

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

Delight surged through the first years and they applauded Hannah who hopped of the stool in clear relief and staggered over to the table clad in cheerful yellow to the sound of polite applause from her new housemates.

Susan was next and this time Heather and Hermione did the gentle jockeying, encouraging the nervous redhead with the silent, albeit enthusiastic, support. Susan gave them both a bright grin before the hat fell over her eyes and silence reigned once more.

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

Heather cheered as Susan handed the hat back to Professor McGonagall and waved as Susan gave her the thumbs up to show it went alright. “Doesn’t seem too hard, does it?” Heather spoke softly to Hermione, who shook her head in relief, nibbling at her lip nervously all the same.

Time seemed to both drag and speed until: “Granger, Hermione” was called out and Heather nudged Neville to join in the shoving of Hermione forward towards the chair. Neville shot Heather a small, weak smile, clearly pleased to have been included, but otherwise preoccupied with his own name coming up.

Hermione sat on the stool for close to four minutes until…

“GRYFFINDOR!”

Was roared out over the crowd of students and Heather’s mouth dropped open in surprise. Despite her surprise, Heather still applauded loudly and happily as Hermione half-jogged, half-skipped to the red table at the far left of the hall. Neville was applauding just as hard beside her, swept up into Heather’s jubilation.

When Malfoy was called, Heather reached past three people to give the blond boy a gentle shove and a thumbs up, making him smile at her in disbelief. “You got this,” she mouthed at him and Malfoy all but swaggered to the stool and was barely able to settle the hat around his ears before it shouted:

“SLYTHERIN!”

Heather clapped loudly above her head, Neville beside her infinitely more demure in his expression of approval. When “Longbottom, Neville” was called, Heather thought the poor boy might faint. Grinning more than a little madly, Heather grabbed Neville’s shoulders and shoved him non-too gently towards the stool, whispering in his ear: “you can do this, Neville, be strong.”

With a surprisingly determined expression on his face, Neville took his seat and settled the hat on his head. For three minutes he sat there until with a great booming shout, the hat screamed:

“GRYFFINDOR!”

To Heather’s joyous applause. 

Zabini joined Heather as they waited the green eyed girls turn, his elbow nudging hers when they reached the ‘Ps’. “You’re up next,” he whispered to her, leaning his head close.

Heather smiled, feeling her nerves return. Meeting Zabini’s gaze, Heather couldn’t help but voice her biggest fear, “what if me being here is a mistake and the hat won’t sort me?”

Zabini’s eyes widened at that before he snorted laughter, “Potter, if that happens, I’ll bankrupt my mother and send all her gold to the muggle minister.”

Heather couldn’t help but grin at that, “thanks, Zabini,” she murmured just in time before her name was called.

“POTTER, HEATHER!”

There was a dearth of sound before whispers exploded all around. Normally, Heather would be embarrassed and preoccupied by the noise that signalled everyone looking for her, hoping to pick out the teeny, tiny Saviour first year from the rest. Except, that Heather was more preoccupied by Zabini grabbing her shoulders and all but frog marching her to the stool, which made her laugh in delight.

“Blaise!” Heather half-scolded, more delighted than anything as she jumped up the three stairs and flopped on the stool, shooting the cheeky boy a grin of her own.

Zabini’s bright flashing grin was the last thing that Heather saw before the hat fell over her eyes and obscured all sound. Then, like a little niggling worm, a voice sounded in her ear.

“Mmmm, difficult, very difficult,” the voice rasped and making Heather jump in surprise, “plenty of courage, not a bad mind either, but where to put you?”

Heather thought of the sorrow of her home life, of the joy she’d found in her new friends, and of Zabini’s bright smile that had stood out like silver sickles to her minds eye. “I just want to be with my friends,” Heather whispered to the voice, hoping not to be sent home as the self-doubts from the train came crushing back. She didn’t belong, she’d have to go back, it was all a mistake and no one was sorry.

“Are you sure?” The voice asked her, “you could be great you know, it’s all here in your head. Fame and fortune could be yours if only you grasped it…”

Heather couldn’t help but shake her head, “I just want to be with my friends, I’ve never had friends before and I’ve had so much fun with them.”

“Well…. if you’re sure… better be…”

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

Heather tugged the hat off her head and looked over at Hermione, who looked devastated but also happy as she cheered for Heather, brown eyes shining brightly in the torch light. Heather handed the hat to Professor McGonagall, who looked surprised but not unhappy, and hurried over to Hannah and Susan, high-five’ing them in delight.

“Welcome to Hufflepuff, Potter,” a loud, boyish voice crowed over the top of the three first years reuniting. “Loyalty, friendship, and hard work, that is what sets Hufflepuff’s apart!”

“Oh, stow it, McMillan,” another voice chided, female this time and Heather met faintly glowing, violet eyes set into an aristocratic face. “Genevieve Singleton, Miss Potter, don’t mind McMillan, he’s an idiot.”

Heather smiled warily at the older students, who she gathered were prefects by the shiny ‘P’ badges on their robes, before turning to watch the last of the sorting ceremony.

As Weasley was applauded into Gryffindor with his brothers, Heather jumped up, motioning Susan, who was sitting beside her, to help her; the two first years grabbed Blaise Zabini’s shoulders and heckled him forwards with bright grins. Zabini laughed and shoved back at them, even as Professor McGonagall shouted for order.

“Miss Potter, Miss Bones, sit back down, this instant!” Professor McGonagall scolded and Heather couldn’t help but smile sweetly in reply.

“Yes, Professor,” she agreed, allowing Susan to tug her back to the Hufflepuff table with a giggle.

Still grinning broadly, Zabini shoved the Sorting Hat on his head and tried to sit still as he minutes seemed to drag. Eventually, the Hat called out:

“SLYTHERIN!”

To a resounding applause from the green table to the far right Blaise Zabini jumped off the stool, handed the Sorting Hat to Professor McGonagall, and joined Draco Malfoy at the green clad table. Heather waved at him cheerfully when Zabini caught her eye and gave her an enthusiastic thumbs up, teeth flashing brightly against his dark skin. Twisting around, Heather caught sight of Hermione and Neville at Gryffindor, both first years grinning just as wildly as Zabini was and they waved at Heather when they saw her looking, before Hermione pointed towards the head table just in time for them to see the man will the long grey beard stand up.

“Welcome,” he said as he spread his arms wide and smiled just as broadly as the excited first year student, “to Hogwarts!”


End file.
